


Out

by jemejem, shewhoisntnamed44



Series: Professor [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Post-Canon, Professor Andrew Minyard, but also:, hey! welcome to Jem Cant Tag, im getting slowly better at tags watch, other people's view of Andreil is basically what im writing, yay!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 01:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11567274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemejem/pseuds/jemejem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhoisntnamed44/pseuds/shewhoisntnamed44
Summary: Chris was lucky enough to have a co-worker who Neil Josten owed a favour to -- and was about to launch her journalism career through the roof.





	Out

Neil bit back a smile and tried not to seem like he was running off, but his pulse skipped every second beat, and he hadn’t had this itch to go since he’d been on the run. 

But this wasn’t running away. 

“Meet y’all back at the hotel?” Maggie murmured, speaking to Neil only. Neil’s head jerked, not really listening to anything except for when his coach would say “You’re free to go.” 

And then he did say those words, and Neil was running. 

Four months. Four months and twelve days and however many hours and however many minutes and seconds. Neil burst out through the back door, escaping the security that was going to escort them to their transportation, and veered to the left before he could be caught in an onslaught of fans. 

It was barely a block away, where Andrew had promised he’d stand. He’d driven all the way from Columbia down to Florida, because it was unbearable. Four months was a long time, for them. Travelling and promoting and sponsorships and award ceremonies that Andrew couldn’t accompany him to, because no one knew and he had a job of his own. 

Neil stopped short, out of breath, when he was five feet away. 

There was nothing more comforting than seeing Andrew’s eyes soften at the mere sight of him, than watching his arms drop from crossed over his chest, one hand extended. Neil took it, and instantly, there was nothing left he had to keep bottled up. 

“Yes.” Andrew said. 

Blinding, bruising, intoxicating, yes, yes, yes. Andrew was leaning against the car and Neil was leaning over him, forearms braced against the windows. 

It was, in hindsight, reckless and stupid to do this so close to the stadium. Both of them were equally as desperate and depraved of each other, and they should have at least gotten into the car. 

Neil supposed they were lucky it was only one person. 

“Oops.” 

He was taller than both of them by far, lips rolled into his mouth and eyes wide. Sweater, jeans, lace-up leather shoes and a black scarf around his neck contrasting with the Sprinters cap he wore.

He smiled hesitantly, but that didn’t help with the sick feeling in his stomach. “Uh. Long distance must be hard.” So he knew who Andrew was. “I’ll let you two go.”

Andrew was under Neil’s frame one moment and standing in front of the man the next. “Tell anyone about this, snitch, and I won’t hesitate to carve you inside out.” He spun a knife between his fingers. 

The man’s eyebrows rose up, but he seemed unfazed by Andrew’s threat. “How’d you know I was a reporter?”

“Notepad and pen in your pocket. Nicely dressed: How many people’s private lives had you sold to dress like that?”

“None.” He smiled. “I have my standards.”

“You must be a shit reporter.”

He gestured to himself. “I have my ways. You can put the knife away, Minyard. This is all off record.”

“Nothing’s off record with you lot.” Neil said, bitter. 

“I suppose.” The man tapped two fingers against the bill of his cap. “Which means you owe me.”

Neil’s teeth ground against each other. 

“When -- or if -- you two feel like coming out, I can cash it in then.” He pulled out his notepad and pen, scribbling out his name and number. “Have a nice evening.”

Karter Guess.

“Pretentious name for a pretentious asshole.” Andrew muttered, when they slid into the car. 

They didn’t want to acknowledge the close call that it’d been. Neil squeezed Andrew’s hand, trying to shove aside the heaviness in his chest. 

“He’s genuine, Neil.”

Neil nodded. 

~

Chrissie Lauyier wasn’t a sports reporter, but RUN had seemed to want her, for some strange, unknown reason. Journalism was tough: you took any fucking opportunity that was presented to you. 

Six months later, she’d wormed her way out of covering live baseball games and sitting with two other women rate the attractiveness of basketball league players. It’d landed her with Exy: specifically, writing about Exy’s infamous. 

She hadn’t known Kevin Day, nor Neil Josten, or Jean Moreau. But it was an incredibly intertwined mess: She’d found herself buying an Allison sports bra, though she went to the gym only once a week. The Exy league stemmed from it’s college league, and those school’s teams had an oddly intense following. 

There was a lot of confusing and dramatic history for a sport 40 years old. 

Andrew Minyard’s name had been deeply buried, but she’d actually recognised it without Googling it beforehand, when they’d mentioned it. 

Sitting at her desk, she had her head in her hands, having watched and read about his brief career in Exy. 

There was a knock on her office cubicle’s wall. She grunted and didn’t look up to acknowledge who had already arrived. 

“Heard you got Minyard.”

She grunted again. 

Karter Guess crouched by her desk and glanced at her screen, then up at her. “I got Josten. I’ll help you out.”

She spared him a flat look. 

He grinned. “He owes me a favour.”

“Neil Josten owes you a favour?” Chris echoed. “How did you manage that?”

He cocked his head. “Irrelevant. But he’s the only way you’re going to convince Andrew to give you anything but a scathing look.”

Karter hadn’t imposed himself on Chris in a strange way, more so than enthusiastically suggesting. They’d worked together once before and it’d gone well and smooth, but Chris had always preferred working on her own. Karter’d respected that. 

It was probably time to get over herself, though, if she wanted to keep her job. 

“Fine. Fine. But shove any more Starbucks and Instagram Aesthetics down my throat and I’ll throttle you.” 

“You liked it.” He said offhandedly, standing from his crouch. He was really, tall to most people but her, because she was also pretty tall. They were almost the same height when she wore her heeled boots. “I’ll try and contact him this evening, but you need to book us flights to South Carolina Regional.”

“Why?” Chris didn’t exactly have the money for cruising around the country on her own free will. 

“We’re paying Dan Wilds a visit: Don’t worry, RUN’s paying. And don’t you know? Palmetto is where Minyard teaches criminology.”

~

Chris is sitting on the hood of the rental car, because Karter’s an idiot and locked her out of it. It’s a grossly humid spring morning, and that strange second skin she always feels after going on planes is only just starting to peel off. Claustrophobia, probably. Something about fucked up childhoods and trauma. Chris can’t stop itching through her clothes. 

She liked the crisp springs of Chicago, dustings of snow that melted as soon as they fell into the puddles. She hated the feeling of suspecting the back of her neck was being burnt, but there wasn’t anywhere she could really take cover nearby. She had no clue where Karter was, or why he was taking a while, and didn’t want to give him her number by texting him (They had ten dollars over it). 

Her lack of comfort and boredom always won out, if it weren’t for the tall (only an inch on her, though) man walking into the narrow path that lead to the Palmetto Exy stadium’s back door, where she assumed the Foxes got in an out. He paused and Chris heard a thump that sounded suspiciously like a fist on a steel door, and he stalked out again. 

“Is that why you’re waiting?”

Chris cocked her head. “Not sure. Is what?”

“The door’s passcode’s changed.” He huffed and put his bag and racket down in front of Chris’ rental car, all green eyes and thick muscle wrapping around his limbs. There was a spot of concealer over his cheekbone. 

“I’m just chilling here. Can I ask why your tattoo is covered?”

His scathing look transformed into something of mild surprise. “I just came from the airport. Most people don’t recognise me without it.”

“Unless they’re Exy addicts.” Chris’ head fell to the other side: She needed to work out the knots in her muscles, from being hunched over at her computer. 

“Or reporters.”

Chris shrugged. “Guilty as charged. But it’s not you I’m interested in. Please, don’t look so surprised.”

“It’s not immodesty.” Kevin Day was a liar. He was as arrogant as a man could be. Which was very. “The lot of you usually are.”

“I don’t give a shit about your whole Raven scenario.”

“Well,” He said. “Makes sense. Not many people care about anything but the ghost over my shoulder.”

Chris felt a little bit bad. “I suppose it’d be the same for me, too. If I was famous.”

“Kevin Day.” He said, suddenly, offering his hand. 

Chris took it. “Chris Lauyier. You don’t have to introduce yourself to me: I write feature articles for RUN: I know who you are.”

“Seems like you have a bad impression of me.”

“There’s a difference between real smiles and fake ones.” Chris smiled and pointed to it. “You’re pretty slick.”

Kevin’s smile wasn’t so much of a grin, but a stretch, where his lips thinned and his eyes narrowed a little. “You’re pretty observant.”

“What’re you doing down here? Path down memory lane?”

“Neil and I come back down every-so-often. Well, Neil’s here often enough.” His mouth twisted. “His team’s only the next state over: Spends a lot of time here. Off the record, right?”

“Do you see a pen and paper?”

“Some people have freakishly good memory.”

“Do not fear: I’m not one of them.”

Kevin nodded. “As I was saying -- Neil’s around here often enough, but usually doesn’t stop by Palmetto. We help out Dan.” Kevin arched his eyebrow. “And my father’s down here.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Had a stroke two years ago. I think he appreciates the company -- and Dan appreciates the spare five minutes we give her.”

“Am I supposed to know who your father is?”

“Wymack?” 

Chris shut her eyes. It took her a moment, and she nodded when she opened them. 

“Strange that something so big to me, is completely nothing to you.”

“That’s generally how being strangers works. And don’t you have a girlfriend?” Chris pulled out her phone and dialled the most recent number on her list. 

Danielle Wilds picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello. It’s the reporter, isn’t it? Has your partner come back?”

“Not yet, but I’ve got a six-foot-two man with a high sense of self importance and a tendency to overshare with strangers angry about not being able to get through the door.”

Dan laughed. “I like you. Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.”

Kevin was scowling when she hung up. “Rude.”

“They’re switching over security systems, so you can’t get through the door unless someone lets you in from the inside, or if you have the key. Have a nice day.”

“You aren’t coming in?”

“I’m waiting for my partner.” Chris tipped an imaginary hat. “Nice to meet you, Day. I’m new in sports, but expect me to be snooping around.”

“You lot always do.” He sighed, picking up his things. “Goodbye.”

Karter returned approximately two minutes after Dan let Kevin through the door with two six-inch subs and two bottles of coke and joined her on the hood of the car.

“Have you been sitting here the entire time?”

“What the fuck were you doing?”

“Getting wifi at a coffee corner, down the road.”

Chris glared. “You could have told me. And given me the keys to the car, so I could at least have a nap.”

“Eat your sandwich.” He was smiling. “You were desperate to pee: I wasn’t going to distract you when I was sure you’d club me over the back of the head.”

Chris ate her sandwich, and kept her strange encounter with Kevin Day to herself. 

It was set: Chris had a dinner date with the lovely Andrew Minyard. Apparently a whole foot, plus an inch shorter than her, and as intimidating as he had been a handful of years ago, swatting exy balls like flies. 

Chris would wear her heeled boots. 

Karter was going for a more casual approach, meeting Neil Josten for coffee. 

Dan Wilds, who also preferred a shortened version of her name like Chris did, was an incredibly pleasant woman, and Chris didn’t spare the word pleasant on just anyone. 

“You’re worrying about what to wear.” Karter teased, in their hotel room. He was about to leave for late afternoon coffee, whereas Chris had a few hours left till their booking at an Italian place in Columbia. “This isn’t a date, Chrissie.”

“Enough with the Chrissie.” She snapped. “And I know it’s not a fucking date. Moron. I just -- I’m not sure if he’d appreciate casual or formal more. Don’t laugh, I’m trying to do my job! One wrong move and I’ll fuck this entire thing over, and won’t get a word out of him.”

“If you’re insincere, you won’t get a word out of him.” Karter said. “Don’t go out and buy anything: Don’t be ridiculous. That jumpsuit is fine. And the heeled boots.”

Chris stared. “Are you sure you’re not gay?”

“Are you sure you don’t play softball?” He threw back. “Maybe you should add a vest.”

“Fuck off.”

“And an undercut.”

“Fuck off.” 

He walked out grinning. 

~

When she walked in, Andrew was glad he was already sitting. Mostly because she was monstrously tall, though being short meant everyone was monstrously tall, but she was wearing heels on top of being over six-feet. 

Excessive. 

But Andrew was also glad to be sitting, because she was fifteen minutes late and he hated waiting around for people whilst standing. 

He hated waiting in general, but he’d promised Neil to stick it out at least half an hour. 

She’d already wasted 15 minutes, so Andrew only had to stare at her until she was too uncomfortable to say anything, eat his meal that he’d already ordered and she would pay for, tell her that Neil and him were married, and then leave.

Neil had already dealt with the other reporter, the one who’d already known about the two of them and had kept it quiet. 

He was staring at her, but she was staring back. Level, unafraid, and most certainly not uncomfortable. Sometimes they started like that. Journalists liked to act more important than they were. 

Five minutes after not back down, he slid the menu across the table. “Well played.”

“Thanks.” She flicked it open, scanned the menu and flipped it shut again. “Andrew Minyard.”

“Chrissie Lauyier.”

“It’s Chris.”

Andrew nodded. “I’ve already ordered.”

“Good.” She gestured to a waitress and didn’t smile, ordering one of the cheapest dishes and garlic bread for the two of them. Andrew appreciated it, even if he wouldn’t mention it. “Karter’s already done hassling Neil, and he was oddly tolerant apparently. You just didn’t bother reacting or talking to the press at all,whilst in the spotlight, whereas Neil openly despises it.”

Andrew stared at her some more: She was fiddling with a thin silver chain around her wrist, flicking back the black hair cut to chin length with a jerk of her head. Fidgeting. “Bore me with more of your small talk.”

“Why does Neil owe a favour to Karter?”

“That’s a question your boy can answer himself, can’t he?”

“He’s refused, as of yet.” She flicked her hair again. The pendant on her necklace made a small tinkling noise as she moved her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “You can’t tell me?”

Andrew could, but he didn’t want to spoil all the fun. “Why would I want to? Are you going to jump to the chase, or what.”

“I’m meak to get a full page interview from you about your views on Exy. How it worked into your life, why you chose it, how you played and why you continued to. Why you stopped, would you consider it again.” A curl of a single lip. “I’ve been told that exy is your absolute favourite subject.”

“If it was, I’d be teaching it. Speaking of -- is that bracelet from your mother? Which one?”

Chris froze. 

Gotcha. 

But he hadn’t snatched her for long: She eased up almost instantly. “Birth mother’s. Didn’t think anyone would bother digging down that deep.”

“Criminology professor.” He reminded her. “Did you kill your adoptive mother?”

“They thought I did, didn’t they?” Her knuckles were white. “Just because I haven’t had a nightmare about it for a little while now, doesn’t mean that I did it.”

“You were lucky.”

“To be adopted? I know.”

There was a moment of silence, a quiet understanding. The food arrived, prolonging the silence for a moment more. 

“Why are you reporting sports?”

“Therapeutical.” She stabbed her fork into her pasta. “It has -- or so I thought -- nothing that people could connect to me -- or that I could relate to.”

“Welcome to the Foxes.”

And Andrew almost smiled into his food, but god forbid he smiled out here, and god forbid he smiled at anything other than Neil. 

They finished in silence. Andrew could write 400 words on Exy, couldn’t he? That was simple enough, even if he loathed it. 

He supposed he didn’t truly loathe it. He hated how it was what kept Neil alive, how he was merely a pawn in the Moriyamas’ twisted game. He hated how it had helped, in the end. It had been a stepping stone, a vital one, in meeting the right people, in getting better. Admitting it was proof. 

He hated, though he wouldn’t say, and refused to regret -- but he hated how it took Neil away from him. He hated how it separated them. 

And if he ever said that, Neil would drop everything for him. It was a mutual understanding: Nothing mattered more than the other. 

He supposed that was love. Wouldn’t admit it. Wouldn’t dare. 

When he finished, she was only halfway through. He traced the rim of his glass with a finger, and she looked up at him with pasta hanging out of her mouth with one eyebrow raised. 

“You wanted to extract my opinion on Exy for your shitty magazine, didn’t you?” 

She finished her mouthful, lifted her napkin to wipe her mouth and settled back in her chair, taking her time. “I did. It’s not, however, a shitty magazine. Think of it like the Vogue of the sports world: This is an Exy special.”

“And you wanted my opinion.”

“An abstract opinion.”

“Wymack.” Andrew held up one finger. “Danielle Wilds. Jean Moreau. Jeremy Knox.”

“Already being covered.”

“Then what’s the use for mine?”

“Abstract.” She reminded him. “Shortest goalie in Exy’s short history, and yet didn’t give a shit if strikers made fun of his height, shooting goals straight over your head.”

Andrew looked at her flatly.

“Or couldn’t you reach them?” She didn’t smile: She didn’t look smug. She did seem to be enjoying herself though.

“Do you want to keep your job?” He asked, after a moment of stretched silence.

She sighed. “Sorry. I’ll stop.”

He almost rolled his eyes. 

“You’re welcome to call me a giraffe at any time, though.” She leaned over to rummage through her bag. 

Andrew did roll his eyes. “I’m not immature.” He paused. “Empire State.”

She pursed her lips. “Funny.”

There was a thin folder slid across the table: She picked her fork up and continued to eat. 

He flicked open the folder: It was a basic questionnaire. He looked back up. 

“Figured you’d rather not talk so much. Write out your answers to all of those, and it should be enough for me to fill a page.”

“It’s quite a few.”

She gave him a flat look. “You rather I stretch things and fill the page with bullshit?”

Andrew noted the last question: Is there any presence of Exy left in your life now?

He could work with this. 

He nodded: “I’ll give it over to you tomorrow.”

“You can email it, here, I should have written it at the bottom --”

He stood up with the folder, finished his glass of water. “You’re paying.”

She watched him go. 

~

Is there any presence of Exy left in your life now?

"It’d be hard to avoid, when your husband’s in the professional league. Josten’s team’s jerseys aren’t warm, or comfortable, so I usually wear his old Palmetto State hoodie. Up your standards, Sprinters. Deplorable."

~

“Oh.”

Karter grinned. Neil Josten had his arms crossed, unimpressed with anything this early in the morning. Andrew -- it felt weird to refer to him as anything but his first name, despite not being on a first name basis -- was watching the tendrils of smoke curl from one end of his cigarette, hanging loosely from between two fingers. Neil glanced at him and saw it’s dying embers, stealing it to take a drag and slotted it neatly back into where it’d been. 

Professional athletes shouldn’t be smoking. 

“Well, thank you.” Chris decided that was appropriate, but she was internally screaming. This was the biggest -- the biggest -- thing she could imagine, hope and dream for. Not only coming out, but a secure relationship status? 

She didn’t stare at the two tiny men, who could probably both snap her in half, who had two cats and a home and probably sat in the quiet together, sharing cigarettes and talking about anything other than Exy. She didn’t stare. 

“There’s plenty for me to work with here.” She nodded. 

Neil nodded. Andrew’s gaze flitted briefly from the cigarette to Chris, and then to Neil. And then back to the cigarette. 

“No problem.” Neil said, voice quiet. 

“Tie it off with me, Neil?” Karter offered. Chris wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but they wandered off together. 

“I don’t want to deal with them.” Andrew said. Chris glanced at him. 

“I’ll keep as much of the press of your back as I can. It should die down eventually.”

“That’s all I ask.” His head tipped to the side. “Will it affect his career?”

“Hasn’t affected his performance, has it?” Chris shrugged. “He’ll probably lose some rednecks, but that’s probably a good thing.”

Andrew said nothing. 

“Who proposed? Am I allowed to ask that?”

“No.” He said, coldly. “You are no more than acquaintance.”

“Oh, of course.” Chris promised. “Was it during college?”

He remained an emotionless slate. Chris was good at reading people, but not if there wasn’t anything to read. Not as of yet. Unless he wasn’t joking about the whole acquaintance thing. 

“It was. Cute.”

“Don’t.”

She smothered a grin.

“Was he a good father?” 

The grin fell. “Way to darken the mood, Minyard.”

“I have no emotions.” He said. “Was he?”

“Not my birth father.” She smiled. “Adoptive, however. Was good to me, even after his wife died. I was all her idea: I thought I’d be cast aside when she was gone, and when all the rush died down. Wasn’t, though. I was lucky.” 

Another moment of silence. 

“The sexual tension between you and your boytoy is almost intolerable.” He decided. “Act on that.”

She frowned. “He thinks I’m gay. And dating a coworker is never a good idea.”

“Not my problem, Lauyier. Just fix it by the time I see you again.”

“So we’re seeing each other again?”

He glared. “When’s your flight?”

She checked her phone. “10 minutes till check-in. Did you feed the cats breakfast before you left?”

Andrew stalked off. Chris allowed herself to laugh, just a little.

~

“Where the fuck is Lauyier’s article? The magazine is going to be printed in two days.”

“Tomorrow morning.” Karter said, calmly. He checked his watch: Half an hour till he could clock out, and then he’d asked Chris to give him an hour and a half to get ready, fill up his car with gas and swing by her place. 

Dinner down on the Chicago river. It was going to be nice. 

Karter had been in denial, and thinking Chris was gay had been a good mechanism. Turns out: He was wrong, and that was currently working in his favour. 

“Why is she handing it in so late? In fact -- why is she handing it in with you? What’s so special about the two of you?” 

Karter’s supervisor had no right to be snitching about Chris’ due dates, when she wasn’t Chris’ supervisor. Karter looked at her over the rim of his glasses. “That’s for me to know, and you to stop pestering me about.”

“I’ve had it up to here --” She motioned above her head. “With you.”

“Shame you're only the substitute supervisor: you can’t fire me.” Karter turned back around and started popping his fingers. 

“I can, and I will.” She snarled, stomping away. 

Maybe she didn’t deserve all the shit Karter gave her. Maybe only some of it. 

He relaxed in his chair. They’d had a handful of editors look over each of their featuring articles, but it’d remained hush-hush. Karter was both looking forward to when it was released, and what it’d amount to for his career, but also remembered watching Neil and Andrew’s quiet: Their small, impenetrable space. It was about to be blown to pieces on Wednesday, when they would be meeting with Neil and Andrew after his game in New York, to plan the announcement. Wednesday evening they would post a cryptic photo with wedding rings and black-and-white filters, and Thursday RUN would be released.

It would go smoothly. Karter would make sure of it. 

Something hit his chair, and he cracked an eye open. 

And smiled. 

“Hello.”

Chris was scowling, and kicked his chair again. “What should I wear?”

“I don’t know, Chris.”

“Is it a fancy restaurant?”

“Look it up?”

She huffed. 

“Wear whatever you want, honey.”

“Call me that, and I’ll castrate you.” She stalked off. 

“You’re sounding more and more like Minyard everyday, Lauyier!” Karter yelled after her. “Sounds like you two are getting even more buddy-buddy after every phone call!”

The distant “Fuck off!” made him grin wider. 

A voice from the next cubicle over said: “Gross, Guess. She’s like a foot taller than him, and they’re both brick walls. They’re a match made in hell.”

Karter only laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to @humongousvoidbear (their tumblr) for literally being so supportive omg Bless You??? (ur a co-creator u deserve it)


End file.
